Rowan dreamed of finding the seven Unity Koro and ruling all of Althoria. But first, he had to get his hands on that honey bun. Right now, destiny could wait. The last pastry at the Harvest Festival was calling, and Rowan wasn’t about to miss out. He tore down the hill, the wind chasing him like a jealous rival, while the wheat fields thundered in golden applause. From the top of the hill to the valley below, the town of Zyranth bloomed with color and sound. Ribbons in every shade fluttered from the rooftops. Painted banners swayed across the cobblestone

When Rowan was four, the world seemed endless and full of magic. Golden fields stretched far beyond the village. The cottages, with mossy roofs and sturdy beams, stood close together like little mountains guarding their people. And above it all, the sky was endless and blue, a dreamy canvas that felt big enough to hold every wish Rowan could imagine. That evening, the wind carried a secret. It whispered across the hilltop as if trying to speak in a language only the heart could hear. Rowan stood barefoot in the tall grass, the blades brushing against his knees as the

Rowan hit the ground hard. His knees buckled, and he rolled to his side. His breathing came in sharp bursts, each one shaky and uneven. The heavy and strange silence rang in his ears. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his hand quivering as he raised it into the soft light, unsure of what he might find. Rowan glanced around the crater, but the Windkoro had vanished. He went to dust off his sleeve, but stopped short when he caught the glow in his palm. There, beneath his skin, a faint swirl of light shimmered softly, like a star trying not

The sun hadn’t actually peeked over the horizon. Still, Rowan was already wide awake, his heart pounding like a festival drum. Today was the day he was finally leaving Zyranth! Unfortunately, his blanket didn’t seem to agree with him. “Gah, let go!” Rowan wriggled and wrestled until he tumbled straight off the bed with a solid thud. “Totally meant to do that,” he grumbled, rubbing the bump on his head. His hair stuck out in every direction, looking as if a lightning bolt had zapped him in his sleep. The floor around him was a battlefield of crumpled shirts, scattered

The creatures shrieked in surprise, their glowing eyes snapping toward Rowan all at once. With a burst of sparks, the firebats shot into the stormy air, screeching as they circled overhead. Mud clung to Rowan’s boots, each step heavy and slippery. He slipped once, arms flailing, then caught himself and slid down the hill like a runaway cart. The rain fell heavily, blurring the world, but Rowan kept his eyes fixed on the boy tied up below. His heart fluttered like a trapped bird inside his ribs. He threw his arm out, shouting, “Wind, GO!” A tiny puff drifted from

The heavy wooden door groaned as it creaked open, its rusty hinges whining like a tired flute. The sound wandered into the dark beyond, echoing through the silence. Rowan peeked inside first, his fingers clutching the doorframe. Bjorn leaned over Rowan’s shoulder. “You sure this is the place?” Rowan swallowed hard. “Yep. Definitely the place. Well… probably. I think.” Bjorn arched an eyebrow. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.” Rowan lowered his hood. “We came to find answers. Only one way to get ’em.” Bjorn crossed his arms. “Then you go first. You’re the one with the wind power.”